Musings and Snippets from a group of people interested in Magistrates' Courts and their work. All cases are based on real ones, but anonymised and composited. All opinions are those of one or more individuals. JPs swear to enforce the law of the land, whether or not they approve of it. Nothing on here constitutes legal advice.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Oddly Familiar

This morning's list consisted of a trial, estimated at a half day, with a couple of reports (sentencing) cases down for 2 p.m.The trial could not start on time, for reasons we could not blame on the parties. So we filled in with a few odds and ends from other courts; nothing special there, except the unedifying sight of a scraggy young man kicking off in court when I told him that he had been refused bail. He is one of those unprepossessing but ultimately sad characters who has found out the hard way that however much defiance he has chosen to show to authority in his youth he will finally come up against someone who will say 'no' and mean it. Today that someone was me (agreed by my colleagues of course). The custody staff dealt with him firmly and professionally, and down the steel stairs he went. The trial itself finally came on at such a late hour that we clearly had to accept its going part-heard (on the whole, a Bad Thing) or putting it all off to another day.That sorted, we dealt with business from the other courts, before breaking for lunch.The sentencing was as straightforward as it could be, with a few tweaks that I can't mention. The twist in the tail was a complex (and unplanned) bit of case management, enlivened by a defence solicitor with a style that might do well in a TV talent show. Again, I can't say a lot, but I did emerge with my loathing of sloppily-drafted ASBOs confirmed.And so to the pub.

What The Papers Said

40 Bloggers That Really Count (Times)There are 30,000 or so unpaid magistrates across England and Wales. For five years, one of them has anonymously detailed the cut and thrust of the job, providing a grimly funny insight into Britain’s sinful underbelly with the same feel and tone as a Hogarth or Dickens.